


give it a chance now

by sameboots



Series: give it a chance [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: In which Jaime is an important person, Brienne is his P.A., Jaime is hard to deal with, and Brienne is very patient.--“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”“That’s not why I hate you.” Brienne turns around with the tux in hand to find Jaime looking at her like a kicked puppy. “What?”“You hate me?”Jaime actually soundswounded. Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose.





	give it a chance now

**Author's Note:**

> FOR PROMPT REQUEST: “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” from tumblr user melrows!
> 
> Thank you to dollsome for the super quick beta!

“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“That’s not why I hate you.” Brienne turns around with the tux in hand to find Jaime looking at her like a kicked puppy. “What?”

“You hate me?” 

Jaime actually sounds  _ wounded _ . Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No, Mr. Lannister, I don’t  _ hate _ you.” She holds out the tux for him to take. 

“Why do you hate me?” Jaime persists. 

Brienne stares at him. He doesn’t flinch, or let that smirk tilt his lips, or anything that would indicate he’s teasing her. He just stands there, earnest and hurt.

She does the only thing she can do: shove the tux at him again and say, “Right now I hate you because the town car is supposed to be here in fifteen minutes and you’re still in your sweatpants.”

Jaime takes the suit from her with a sullen look and walks back into his closet to dress. 

\--

Brienne is still futzing with his tie when Bronn pulls up and honks. Sometimes, Jaime questions why he surrounds himself with the most impudent staff imaginable, but then he thinks of the simpering sycophants that fawn over his sister night and day and is only relieved that he managed to find someone like Bronn. And Brienne, who somehow manages to be impertinent while still refusing to even call him by his name. No one has ever employed etiquette as a weapon quite as well as she does.

She sighs, near enough that her breath whispers across the skin of his throat. He closes his eyes and counts to ten and reminds himself, for the billionth time, to be a respectable human being. 

“It’ll have to do,” she says, still standing close and giving the ends of his bow-tie one last straightening tug. 

Jaime follows her into the town car, all the while unable to tear his eyes from the way the fabric of her dress seems to move over her body like a stream. He, frankly, feels it’s a pointed attack that every color in her wardrobe seems to be a shade of blue. All of them call attention to the bottomless ocean of her eyes and, eventually, she’s going to realize how hard it is for him to tear his own away.

They’ve barely sat when Brienne pulls out her phone and begins a litany of facts about the various dignitaries they’ll be meeting. 

“Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, she’s known to be quite brash and respects a strong handshake. She has one younger brother, Theon --”

“If you tell me why you hate me, I can fix it,” Jaime interrupts her. 

It’s embarrassing how he can’t seem to stop her voice on a loop in his head:  _ That’s not why I  _ hate _ you That’s not  _ why  _ I hate you  _ That’s _ not why I hate you That’s _ not _ why I -- _

“Mr. Lannister --”

“Jaime,” he says, automatically.

“Mr. Lannister,” Brienne insists, the same as she has since day one of the two years she’s worked for him. She narrows her eyes and continues, “I told you before. I don’t hate you.” She sounds as aggravated as he’s ever heard. “I’ve also told you before it would be incredibly inappropriate for me to call you by your given name.”

“In public,” he reminds her.   
  
She looks almost sad as she says, “And you know better than anyone that nowhere in this town is private for you.” She offers a soft smile before turning back to her phone. “Oberyn Martell is --”

“I know who Oberyn Martell is,” he says sharply. 

“Are you going to allow me to finish a sentence or should I have Bronn drop me off at the corner and I’ll take a cab home?”

She’s flushed and irritated and he just likes her  _ so much _ . A truly inconvenient amount.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and gestures for her to continue.

She clears her throat before starting over. 

“Oberyn Martell is the younger brother of the Prince of Dorne. He …”

\--

Brienne still isn’t sure how she became Jaime’s default … companion to these functions. She’s not his date, clearly, since she spends half the time on his arm muttering names and facts in his ear about the people they’re about to greet. 

It’s not as if Jaime couldn’t find a date. One that was shorter than him, even in heels; one that was more elegant and refined; one who knew how to make their hair look effortless instead of laden with hairspray. 

They’re making their first circuit around the room, smiling and nodding politely when from behind them, a sharp voice all but cries out, “Jaime!”

Jaime’s shoulders stiffen immediately, his spine rigid as he turns, Brienne’s hand falling from his elbow as he does. The brunette woman doesn’t even come up to Brienne’s shoulder. There’s something about her that  _ unnerves _ Brienne.

“Lysa,” Jaime greets with a tight smile. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

The woman,  _ Lysa _ , leans up to kiss both of Jaime’s cheeks. Brienne can feel her eyebrows climbing up her forehead. 

“I couldn’t let Petyr out of my sight,” Lysa says with a brittle sort of laugh. “He can’t manage without me these days.”

“Right,” Jaime says absently. “I almost forgot, you’re married to Petyr Baelish now.” 

“It’s so good to see you, though.” Lysa reaches out, fingers curling around Jaime’s forearm. She steps just a hair closer. “It’s been too long.”

Jaime clears his throat and takes a half-step back until he’s aligned with Brienne once again. Lysa seems to finally notice Brienne’s presence. It’s a bit of a novelty since it’s almost impossible to miss her. Most people act as if they’ve never seen a tall woman before. 

“Let me introduce you to my date tonight.” Jaime subtly removes his arm from Lysa’s grip. Brienne can’t help but tense slightly when he places his hand against her back. “Brienne Tarth, this is Lysa Baelish, formerly Lysa Arryn. Our families have known each other for years.”

“Oh, Jaime, come now.” Lysa tips her head with a smile that looks more like a menace. She turns that expression toward Brienne. “He’s being polite. We dated once upon a time.” She shifts her eyes to Jaime once more. “I’m sure your  _ date _ isn’t the sort to be jealous.”

Brienne’s not certain what she expected Jaime’s reaction to be, but it wasn’t for him to roll his eyes and say in an annoyed tone, “We went on three dates because our mothers arranged it.” Jaime takes his hand from her back and entwines their arms once again. “If you'll excuse us, Lysa, we have other people to greet.” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply guides Brienne past Lysa. 

“We’re going back the way we came,” Brienne tells him under her breath.

  
“I know that,” Jaime grits out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m mounting an escape.”

Brienne smiles at the people they’ve already greeted once as they pass, Jaime wending his way against the flow of bodies until they wind up at the bar. He drops her arm and signals the bartender, ordering himself his favorite scotch, neat, and Brienne a glass of white wine. When the bartender walks away, Jaime finally relaxes, letting out a long breath before facing Brienne. 

“I’m sorry about that back there.” He reaches up to rake a hand through his hair, stopping short when he sees Brienne’s mouth firm into a disapproving line. “Petyr Baelish makes my skin crawl and Lysa is --” he trails off, seemingly at a loss for words. 

Brienne can’t shake the feeling that Lysa’s eyes gave her and offers, “Unstable?”

Jaime’s bark of laughter is loud enough that half the heads in the room turn to look at them. Brienne flushes. He’s distractingly handsome when he laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and the bright line of his teeth nearly sparkling. It makes her heart skip, her pulse thrum. It makes it hard to remember that he’s her  _ boss _ and that he’s not -- that he isn’t -- that she isn’t his  _ real _ date and would never be.

He downs his scotch in one gulp and extends his arm once more. “Shall we?”

\--

For Jaime, there is no relief like that of relaxing into the seats of his town car after one of these schmooze and booze events. By the time he slides in next to her, Brienne has already kicked off her heels and is leaning against the far door; her eyes are closed, her face tired. 

“I don’t know why I keep letting you talk me into these things,” she mumbles once the door is closed. 

“Because you know I would make a mess of it without you.” Jaime tugs until the bow-tie at his throat is undone and shrugs out of his jacket. 

“You wouldn’t just cause a mess,” she says dryly, still not opening her eyes. “You would cause an international incident.”

He laughs softly, never looking away from her long body, somehow all elegant lines even in her exhausted relaxation. Gods, he hopes she never leaves him. Jaime takes a moment to just look at her, to memorize the expanse of pale skin that covers her collarbones, the shockingly delicate bones of her feet, the gentle turn of her wrists and fingers. 

“I don’t think I say this enough,” he says quietly. Something in his tone must unsettle her because Brienne opens her eyes with a small furrow between her brows. Her eyes are so unfathomably blue that he nearly forgets what he meant to tell her. “Thank you.”

She looks even more confused for a moment before shrugging. “It’s my job.”

“No, it’s not.” He shifts so that he’s turned fully toward her. “I pay you to keep my schedule in order and make sure my life doesn’t fall to pieces. None of that means you have to keep me company and charm the parasites that make up Westeros’ elite.”

“I don’t think anyone finds me charming,” she says, a strange look in her eyes. 

“I do,” Jaime insists. Brienne’s face twists with -- he’s not sure what, something that makes him want to reach out to her. “I can’t imagine a better date for these things.” 

“It’s not a date,” she replies quickly, like it’s a knee jerk reaction, and looks away from him to gaze out the window. “And, yes, you could. You  _ should _ , really. Someone from a prominent family. Someone that doesn’t tower over everyone would be a start. Someone  _ capable _ of repartee. Someone beautiful,” she cuts herself off at that, eyes flicking over to him only briefly. 

Jaime stares at her, at the way the passing street lamps light her up golden every couple of seconds. He watches her twist her long fingers together in her lap, as she bites her bottom lip from the inside. 

“I wouldn’t change anything about you.”

Brienne’s head whips around, her already impossibly large eyes going even wider. “Mr. Lannister …” 

It’s his turn to close his eyes, to shutter his feelings and remind himself that he is her  _ boss _ and she won’t even call him by his given name -- “Jaime,” he says. “Please call me Jaime.” 

He sounds  _ pathetic _ to his own ears. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, to the point where he begins to think the silence will never be broken. 

“Jaime.” 

  
It’s so quiet, he’s not sure he heard it. But when he musters up enough courage to open his eyes, she’s looking at him softly, a gentle smile on her lips. He smiles back.

Brienne blinks slowly and relaxes further into the cradle of the seat. Their feet brush together and she doesn’t pull away from him like he expects. It’s not a lot, it would seem like nothing from the outside, but it suffuses him with warmth. 

He just likes her so very much.


End file.
